by J. M. Page
Predictably, Wendy's hand fell away from his back, leaving him feeling cold and alone again. He took a chance and looked at her out of the corner of his eye and saw her frowning. Another twist in the knife. "What does that mean exactly?" she asked, folding her hands together in her lap.
No use trying to hide anything at this point. "Back in the old days, people would use small amounts of dust to keep the audience happy when things went wrong. When it's refined, it's practically invisible, and much safer than raw, but the effects are similar. They just wear off faster." Peter shook his head, knowing he was trying to make it sound less severe than it was, and he owed it to Wendy to lay it out truthfully.
"The dust... It stops people from rioting and demanding their money back, but it numbs the good with the bad. It makes people very susceptible to suggestion and was eventually banned for that use. Well, banned for all uses, but there are still people that use it... to numb everything. To forget."
"I see," she said, her voice tight. She didn't look at him. She'd already connected the dots. Peter didn't have to spell it out for her that the reason he had a secret stash of the stuff was because he used to be one of those people. He hadn't touched it in a long time, but that hardly meant anything when he kept it so close by, just in case. And abstaining didn't mean he wasn't tempted.
Every time the bells went off, he got that familiar itch under his skin. Every time things didn't go his way, there it was again. Always present. Always reminding him how easy it would be to forget everything and feel nothing at all.
Wendy stood, her shoulders stiff, her jaw clenched. She inclined her head towards him, but didn't actually turn to face him and Peter's guts burned with guilt. "Well, thank you for looking out for them, but I'm going to go check on the boys myself. It sounds like they've had a tough night."
Anguish clawed up his throat, tightening there, painful and thick as she left him. He wanted to call out to her, to ask her to stay, but he knew she wouldn't and he couldn't get the words out. Peter buried his head in his hands, desperate to rage and scream and cry, to rip out his hair and bury himself in dust. But instead of doing any of that, he stayed in the dark ticket booth, alone with his thoughts and regrets.
Chapter Nineteen
Wendy
Wendy walked away from the ticket booth in a daze. There was a buzzing in her ears she couldn’t identify and a ringing, hollow emptiness in her brain. She focused on the one thought that wouldn’t tear her apart right now: find the boys.
Their performance hadn’t gone well and it made Wendy feel even worse that she hadn’t been there for them, but also kind of relieved that she hadn’t had to see the whole thing fall apart before her eyes. Watching them fail spectacularly and being able to do nothing about it sounded like the worst thing Wendy could imagine.
Okay, so maybe not the worst. But she could only think of her brothers right now. Everything else was too much.
She wandered around the big empty place like a ghost, checking out all the boys’ normal hiding spots but not finding them anywhere. She couldn’t even manage to comfort her brothers after their rough day — she was useless. But really, if she was totally honest with herself, Wendy was relieved.
She didn’t know where she’d planned to find encouragement or reassurance when all she felt inside was despair and confusion. How could she shine a light for them if she couldn’t even find one for herself?
Besides, they’d be alright; they could handle their bad night in their own way. They were adults now, after all. That’s what this whole thing had been about, wasn’t it? Proving to Wendy that they were adults and didn’t need her anymore?
She wandered across the stage, finding a dark secluded corner behind the backdrop, and there, she collapsed. Well, it wasn’t so much a collapse as it was a slump and a slow slide down the wall until she landed on the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging them tight.
Wendy rested her cheek on her knee and just stared off into the distance, numbness creeping over her, blocking out all the warring emotions inside of her. They were too much to deal with. Everything was too much to deal with, right now.
Peter — everything else aside — had given her a lot to think about, a lot to worry about, but now there was all of these new factors to consider. His debts, for one, but also the revelation about the dust… what did that even mean?
He’d said that some people used it to numb everything, to forget. She wondered what that was like. She could think of some things she’d like to forget. This whole adventure since they’d left Earth, for starters.
A memory flashed in her mind, playing like a movie reel — Peter in the cafe the day of the dust storm, telling her that this place — that Neverland — was what made people forget. But what if it wasn’t? What if it was just the dust?
Had she been worried about forgetting her parents over nothing? Would her memories be safe in Neverland as long as she didn’t partake in the dust? There were too many questions.
She sighed and started picking at the frayed threads at the hem of her pants. The theater was nearly pitch black, but her eyes had adjusted to the dim illumination of the emergency lights. The quiet was still eerie, though. And hidden as she was, Wendy didn’t think it would be terribly hard for someone to sneak up on her.
That wasn’t something she ever worried about before tonight. Before that scary guy came and nearly busted through the window.
She wished she’d been in the theater instead of talking to him. Maybe if she’d been there, she could have pulled the boys off stage, or talk Peter out of his crazy idea, or something. But she wasn’t there because the dust wasn’t Peter’s only problem. Of course it wasn’t. He had debt. The kind of debt that made tough aliens come and trash your home and livelihood.
And did she really want to hang around with that kind of threat looming? When a man that looked like a rhinoceros could just storm his way into the theater any time and smash it all up. What if the next time he came he stumbled upon her poor brothers? Would he show them the same mercy he had Tink?
Wendy clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth together. Peter hadn’t told them about any of this when he convinced them to come to Neverland. He’d promised a world without worries or responsibilities, but that was the last thing Neverland was. It was more trouble than it was worth, if you asked her.
On the opposite side of the stage, a light came on and Wendy squinted, trying to see who it was, but it was too far away for her to make anything out. The light wasn’t bright, but it was enough to add a few more details to her surroundings and Wendy hugged her knees tighter, hoping whoever it was didn’t want to bother her.
From her place behind the backdrop, Wendy could hear footsteps echoing against the wooden stage, the sound of someone’s heels clacking with every stride. But Wendy didn’t look up. She didn’t move, hoping to stay invisible in her hiding spot. Hoping to just have a moment of peace with her thoughts.
It wasn’t meant to be. Tink didn’t even seem surprised to find her behind the backdrop. In fact, she looked like she’d walked straight over to her before sinking to the floor beside her. Tink reached into her pocket and pulled out something that looked like a flamingo pink cigarette, lighting it and taking a puff.
The cigarette smelled oddly like hot grapefruit. Wendy wasn’t sure why she could imagine someone throwing grapefruit sections on a bar-b-que, but that’s what the smell was, definitely. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but it made her nose itch and she wiggled it, trying to stave off a sneeze.
The two sat in silence for a long time. Wendy didn't say anything to Tink and Tink didn't say anything to her, just puffing on her pink grapefruit cigarette until the ashes were long enough to fall to the ground. Tink swept them away with the back of her hand and sighed.
"He hasn't done it in forever, you know," she said.
Wendy looked up from her knees, focusing on the glowing red ember at the tip of Tink's cigarette as she sucked in her cheeks and exhaled a series of perfect
rings.
Wendy shook her head, not wanting to hear any defense of Peter's actions. "What? Drugged hundreds of people without their consent?"
Tink rolled her eyes and flicked her ashes, sweeping them away again. "Yeah, what Peter did was a real terrible thing to do, and I'm not saying you need to forgive him — I'm not gonna forgive him anytime soon, but I'm just sayin'. I know him and I know he's stayed away from that stuff ever since..." Tink stopped, pursing her lips like she'd said too much before trying to cover it with another puff on her cigarette.
"Ever since what?" Wendy pressed, her interest piqued. She knew she shouldn't care. What Peter did was wrong, but more than that, he'd kept things from her. Important things. He'd put her and her brothers in danger without ever thinking of the consequences and she just didn't know if she could forgive that kind of behavior.
Tink let out a frustrated groan and stamped out her cigarette on the floor, producing another and lighting it before the smoke from the other had even died off. The quick bite of citrus in the air as she sparked it made Wendy scrunch up her nose again, but this time, she couldn't fend off the sneeze. Tink didn't seem to notice.
"I guess if you're gonna make a decision, you should know it all. But it's not pretty."
Wendy frowned and hugged herself a little tighter. She'd thought she'd already made her decision. At least, she had before Tinker Bell showed up. But then she came in and seemed to be trying to change Wendy's mind. Or was she? It was hard to tell with her. Tink was a strange person, with strange motives, and Wendy still hadn't managed to quite understand her, even after the last few weeks.
Tink flicked her ashes and sighed again. "So, it was a while back... I mean, a ways back, really. Before we had any problems with the theater, when we were on top of the game still. We had twenty acts, sold out months ahead of time. We were livin' the good life... Too good, I guess." She flicked the ashes again, not even looking at the cigarette she'd forgotten to smoke. Tink's eyes stared off into the far distance glossy and trapped in a memory.
"That's when the trouble started, you see. Hook started buyin' up places all up and down our block and the pressure was gettin' to folks. Peter especially. He couldn't go a day without his dust. But then our guys started going missing and Peter couldn't remember where they'd went. If they even told him. No one really talked to him much... There's not really a point in talking to someone when they're dusted. It's just..." Tink fluttered her hand in the air, making a gesture that reminded Wendy of a balloon floating just out of her grasp. Drifting away, until it was hardly even a speck of color in the sky.
Tink didn't have to elaborate. Wendy got the picture. People on dust weren't really people at all. Just empty shells.
That new information only made her feel sicker about what Peter had done to all those poor people.
Tink cleared her throat, flicked her ashes, and swiped them away. She didn't even seem to think about her routine as she did it. "Look," Tink said, still looking ahead. "I know you're upset about the crowd. I'm pissed, too. But it's not going to hurt them. They'll lose half an hour and think they nodded off during the show and be a little confused about how they made it home, but it'll be fine. There aren't any ill effects."
Wendy frowned, not sure she really believed that. If there were no ill effects, why would the substance be banned? They'd been turned into mindless drones. How could that not be considered an ill effect?
But even that wasn't what bothered Wendy the most. She thought about Peter and his missing memories, her heart aching terribly. "But, what if they got... hooked on it? You could have just gotten someone else addicted to that stuff."
Tink laughed, a breathy chuckle that hardly made any sound at all, shaking her head. "It takes a certain kind of person to get hooked on the stuff. It's not very common."
Wendy scoffed, rolling her eyes. She knew exactly what kind of person got addicted to a substance that took away all their troubles. "A coward. Someone too afraid to face the adversity in life head-on so he has to numb all the pain away."
Even as she said it, rage simmered in her veins, hot and indignant that she'd trusted a man who could let her down so spectacularly. But underneath that anger, there was something even more worrying: jealousy.
There were plenty of things in Wendy's life that she'd like to forget. Plenty of times when things were just too difficult to deal with and a reprieve would have been welcome. But that's not how life worked. At least not for most people. Most people had to just deal with their problems, feel their feelings, and move on to the next day. As much as being numb and not remembering sounded like an attractive option, Wendy couldn't help but remember the sadness in Peter's eyes when he said the dust numbed the good with the bad. It wasn't just ridding yourself of bad feelings, it was ridding yourself of all feelings, and that sounded terrible. She couldn't imagine a life completely devoid of emotion.
Tink shrugged, lighting another new cigarette even though she'd let the other one burn all the way down without smoking it. "That's one way to look at it. But it's not how I see it."
Wendy turned to look at her, curious for what she had to say. She certainly didn't see any other way to look at the situation.
"Think about it. If some coward wanted to run away from their problems, you'd think they'd go for something that at least made them feel good, right? That's why most people do stuff that's bad for them, because it feels good anyway. But not dust... No, the way I see it... People that like dust just feel more than the rest of us. Or more intense. Or something. Like it's just overwhelming and they can't hold it all in and the only way to deal with it at all is to make it go away." She took a puff off the new cigarette and shrugged again, flicking the ashes and sweeping them away.
"But there's a lot of ways to look at it, I guess."
Wendy nodded, swallowing, frowning, not sure what to make of this conversation. She still couldn't manage to make heads or tails of whether Tink was trying to convince or dissuade her. She couldn't suss out her motivations and that made everything more confusing. Was Tink speaking on behalf of Peter? Trying to convince Wendy he wasn't all that bad? Or trying to air out his dirty laundry in hopes of scaring Wendy off? Honestly, as conflicted as she felt, it seemed like it could be either one.
If nothing else, Tink was very adept at making her question herself.
"So, anyway, back to the story. People were disappearing and Peter couldn't remember a thing. Until... well, eventually, it was just the five of us — me, Peter, Slim, Monroe, and Curly. Those were 'the boys' before your brothers came along. They were inseparable. Best friends for who knows how long. So when Monroe went missing... we all knew something weird was going on. He wouldn't just leave without telling his friends or asking them to come with. They did everything together, you know? But by that point, the show was hurting pretty bad. We weren't selling any tickets — I mean, we'd gone from twenty acts on a rotating schedule to five. It was stale and people who'd booked tickets out were cancelling in droves. We couldn't give seats away."
Tink stared off, her face grim, like she was only now realizing how bad things had really been. "That's when Peter kind of lost it. It was bad before, with the dust, but that's when the theater was thriving. Once it started to fall apart, he felt responsible. He felt like it was his fault everyone had left... and to be honest, we all kind of agreed with him."
Wendy's jaw dropped and she felt her forehead wrinkle with the beginning of a frown.
Tink took one look at her expression and nodded. "Yeah, I know, pretty terrible. But you don't know what it was like. We all cared about him, about the show, but no one knew how to help him. We thought that Monroe disappearing would shake him out of it. He was really upset about that — he and the boys were close... like he is with your brothers, you know? So Slim and Curly came up with a plan to canvas the city for Monroe. To ask around and see if anyone had seen him, that kind of thing. They went to see Peter, to get him to help them, thinking, you know, this is the time he snaps out of it and g
oes back to his old self for the greater good..."
"But he didn't?" Wendy asked, an uneasy feeling settling in her intestines. She already knew how this story ended. Or at least she thought she did. There weren't any other performers when they'd arrived, so obviously they'd left, or also gone missing.
Tink shook her head, blowing out a breath that stirred her bangs up and away from her forehead. "Let's just say he was... unresponsive to their plan."
Wendy's hands balled into fists, her fingernails biting into her palms. He'd had a chance to go out and help his missing friends and didn't. She'd had a chance to call about her missing parents and she didn't. Were they really so different? Her throat tightened at the comparison. What he did was arguably worse, but it didn't feel like it. Not to her.
"They never told me they were going. I don't know if I would've helped them. I wasn't in a much better state than Peter, to be perfectly honest with you. I was trying, hoping it would make a difference for him, but it didn't. And when they never came back, we just figured it was because he didn't help them. Like, everyone was just fed up with the guy in charge being dusted every moment he wasn't on stage. And who could blame them?"
Tink seemed angry with herself for showing that bit of disloyalty, shaking her head and looking down at the ash-strewn stage. "Whatever, it's not like that anymore... but that's what we thought. That everyone had just abandoned him. He thought that if he cleaned up his act and found our guys that they'd come back and be a part of our show again. But we never could track them down."
She sounded so sad and hopeless that Wendy almost reached out to comfort her.
"That is, until Peter saw the ad for Hook's casino," she said, her voice coming back from that far off lonely place.
"What was in the ad?" Wendy asked, confused, her head spinning with all of this new information, trying to piece it together and figure out what it meant for her. For the boys. Even for the other boys. If they were missing or held hostage, or whatever it was they suspected, Wendy didn't think they should just be forgotten.
